


To each their own but to my methods I hold

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Strangulation, Why do I write these things I do not know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:13:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: The thrill that runs through him at the possibility of getting caught is, after all, half the fun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Something i wrote for comment fic that i wanted to share. I love Lance Sweets and a good psychopath retelling, and i have to say i was very shocked at the lack of Bones fic. Please enjoy, i own nothing!

It's another dark night, another seedy bar, and another young blonde woman with a soft raspy voice who asks him with a sultry smirk, "Do you wanna get out of here?" 

It's another ride to an unheard of motel in an unregistered car, with an unknown woman who fills out her dress a little to well for their meeting to be sheer coincidence. She puffs her hair in the passengers seat and resets her lipstick in the mirror, smacking her lips silently and waiting patiently. His hands tighten on the wheel. 

It's another trip up steps at three in the morning, and another sixty dollars spent on a room to an employee too distracted by a television show to take notice of their faces. It's another few minutes of walking to the room with his bag in hand and locking the door behind them. Then there is once again another moment of hands and lips and noises reverberating through him that make his skin tingle and stomach recoil. 

It's another minute he permits before the moans turn to gasps and hands go from pulling to desperate pushing. It's another last breath and look of terror that does everything for him touching doesn't, this is what seals the beginning to another one of his perfect nights. 

(He disposes of every piece of evidence. He's gone through the process enough times before that he's able to finish everything efficiently and timely. No traces are left, no names were given, and no faces can be successfully identified.)

The night is perfect and he arrives home to his apartment with a shine in his eyes and blissed out smile.

The next morning he arrives at work greeted by Booth with a grim look and the usual phrase: "We have a body."

He nods his head, not a sparing a single moment to worry if it could be one of his. He'd done his job much too well - always does it much too well really, he learns from the mistakes of the killers apprehended by the FBI; its one of the perks of his job - to ever be discovered. 

He doesn't consider himself cocky, but confident enough in his skill to avoid pointless paranoia. The thrill that runs through him at the possibly of getting caught is, after all, half the fun.

It's another day and another case and another evaluation to make of a sloppy killer. He looks at Booth and the rest of the team and nods his head, working an expected small shy smile onto his face. 

"Ok. Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated! Follow me on tumblr as rhymesofblue and come talk prompts with me:).


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